In the Mirror
by FS
Summary: He didn't strike her as a shy person, whereupon she concluded that his restraint towards her must be the product of another, deeper reason she had yet to make out...


**Disclaimer:**_ Detective Conan_ belongs to Gosho Aoyama, and the English version of "Fascination" belongs to Dick Manning.

**Old A/N: **Thanks a lot to my wonderfully fast and efficient DoRaeMon/beta-reader Astarael00!

**New A/N: **This fic, written for Dag and betaed by Rae, was posted on March 15th 2007. About two years ago I stealthily took it down (lest Claude would scold me XD), wondering whether I would edit or rewrite it, and then forgot about it when reality bit and life kicked me in the face.

Tonight I was reminded of it by a reader who was searching for it on this site, but I thought it was erased from my hard drive earlier this year when my laptop broke down. Turns out I still have a copy of it in a private LJ entry. Hence I decided to edit it and post it as a Christmas present. ;)

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_FS_

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**In the Mirror**

_dedicated to Dagron(rat)_

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"_It was fascination, I know_," sang a jazz singer's silky voice from the speakers, and she inwardly sang along with him as she was brushing her hair in front of the mirror. "_And it might have ended, right then, at the start._"

A kiss, even one which had only been dreamed, could trigger a radical change.

i.

She was glad she was alone at home, as she was betraying her anxiety in every movement. The clock on her dressing table said it was a quarter past seven. He would have his frugal breakfast at half past seven and leave the Poirot about twenty minutes later. If she was lucky, he would open the door just when she walked past the Poirot, and he would greet her with an almost imperceptible smile and one of his cryptic remarks before they had to part again.

After changing into the new dress her mother had given her when she passed the final exams, she threw a last glance into the mirror to make sure that she didn't need to be self-conscious as far as her appearance was concerned. Red suited her extraordinarily well due to its striking contrast with her hair colour, and the classic cut of the dress made her look sophisticated without tarnishing the air of freshness she was lauded for.

As usual, she spent the remaining fifteen minutes in front of the window of the agency, waiting for him. She didn't mind waiting, as she knew he would always come. In a way, this game had become a ritual for both of them, and she knew from experience that he wouldn't let her wait.

Just as expected, he appeared at the street corner at half past seven—unmistakable in his blue jeans, indigo jacket, and (even in this warm weather) indigo woolly hat. Holding her breath, she watches how he strolled down the street towards her while pretending that he didn't notice her staring at him from above.

After he entered the Poirot, she would spend twenty minutes pacing the room before she would hurry downstairs to run into him just as he left the café. At the door or on the street they would meet at last—although there had been three occasions when she had been too impatient and rushed past the Poirot while he was still paying the bill. Sometimes she would play with the idea of surprising him by entering the Poirot just to see if he would invite her to have breakfast with him, but she had never attempted to put her idea into action, preferring to wait.

It wasn't the fear of rejection—she could sense that he was interested in her as well—but he didn't strike her as a shy person, whereupon she concluded that his restraint towards her must be the product of another, deeper reason she had yet to make out. Having started their little game, she wanted him to decide how far it would lead them. Her pride didn't allow her to give him the impression that she was actively pursuing him, and she was patient enough to wait for him to make the second move.

He was standing in front of the Poirot now but didn't enter it. Instead, he stopped directly in front of the entrance, waited there with an indecisive air uncharacteristic of him, then turned abruptly on his heels and—much to her surprise—rang at her door.

i.

A few minutes later, she sat across from him at the coffee table of the agency, sipping her tea while trying to keep her cool at the devastating news he had just broken to her.

He had only come to say goodbye to her, her father, and the little genius living with them—he had said in an irritatingly matter-of-fact voice. The first thing tomorrow he was flying to New York, and he didn't plan to return to Japan unless new obligations forced him to. He wanted to thank Conan-kun once again for Conan-kun's invaluable help and also her for saving his life when Vermouth tried to shoot him during his last "tête-à-tête" with Gin…

It didn't matter—she heard her voice saying. Conan-kun was at Professor Agasa's because he was obsessed with a new computer game the Professor had developed. Conan-kun would stay there until he had solved all the cases of the game, which might take a few days…

And while her voice was talking to _him_, informing him of Conan-kun's and her father's whereabouts, her mind returned to the farewell party Sonoko and she had thrown for Jodie-sensei. She had known that all the FBI agents were leaving Tokyo for New York and Chicago but had assumed that _he_ would stay. From the bits and pieces she had gathered about him in the past months—ever since she learned about the FBI's "pet project" in Japan—she had wrongly assumed that he was an FBI agent living in Japan and thus would naturally stay here even after the Boss had been captured. His uninterrupted daily breakfasts at the Poirot had raised her hopes. Optimistic and naive as she was, she had believed that they would have unlimited time to continue their peculiar game...

"Why didn't you come to the goodbye party?" she asked in a sudden outburst, conscious of herself sounding irrationally reproachful. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel horribly ill-treated.

He wasn't very social—he told her—actually, he had never been. Hence he tried to avoid parties and other social gatherings whenever he could and preferred to say goodbye in private as he had just done.

"But your family!" she protested, clinging to the last fragile hope that she could change his mind. "Your family and friends are here in Tokyo, aren't they? Will you come back to visit them from time to time?"

No—he answered curtly, decisively, without explaining whether he meant he didn't have family and friends in Tokyo or whether he didn't plan to visit them. There was nothing which could keep him in Japan—he added after noticing the look on her face. Important work was awaiting him in New York while everything he wanted to do in Tokyo had been done.

Afterwards a dead silence fell upon them, in which she furiously tried to grasp the hidden meaning of his words. When she finally looked up from the table, she was aware of him gazing at her image in the new mirror, which she had bought to reflect the sunlight streaming in from the window.

In the softly glowing morning light, his eyes were amazingly bright and filled with an expression she believed to be tenderness and remorse. But for all that—when she plucked up the courage to meet his gaze—she realized he wasn't looking at her. He instantly turned away from the mirror and flashed her a faint smile when their eyes met, but he wasn't fast enough to hide the sorrow—disappointment?—flickering across his face.

Now that she had begun to see their relationship in a new light, she wondered how it could have taken her so long to comprehend that this game—as far as he was concerned—had never been about him and her. It wasn't her reflection he wanted to see in the mirror—for him, she was only the vivid and painful reminder of someone else. Between them, there had always been an impenetrable wall, the shadow of the woman he wanted, while she had naively assumed that he was in love with her.

Later, when he had left and she was alone again, she dragged herself over to the place he had sat, sank down onto the sofa, and gazed hard into the mirror. With tremendous effort, she had successfully resisted the temptation to spend more time with him before his departure, denying herself the chance of accompanying him to Professor Agasa's, and now she was fighting the urge to run to the window to catch a last glimpse of him before he was gone. Instead, she thought back to their first encounters and recalled the few strange comments he had made when he saw her crying. He had mentioned a woman—a foolish one—who had been very much like her.

After the downfall of the Organization, Ai-chan had told her that she resembled Ai-chan's late sister, who had been shot years ago. Even Eisuke-kun once admitted that she reminded him of his missing sister, which must be the reason why Eisuke-kun had grown so attached to her in the first place. Perhaps she possessed the sort of anonymous face or aura that would always remind other people of the loved ones they had lost—she thought in a new pang of sorrow, searching in the mirror for the face of the woman _he_ loved.

In the mirror, she saw a pale woman with sad, unwavering eyes and a cloud of long black hair.

Another face very much like her own flashed though her mind—just to vanish again, swallowed by the fog of forgetfulness within the blink of an eye. She had the sneaking suspicion she had met this woman before although she—for reasons unknown—had erased those memories from her mind.

She felt that she had found all the missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle at last and should be able to fit them together… But, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember.

i.

_Just a passing glance_

_Just a brief romance_

_And I might have gone_

_On my way_

_Empty hearted_

(from "Fascination" by Dick Manning)

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_A/N:_

This story takes place in the same universe as "His Deepest Secret" but is in no way connected to it, which is why I decided to post it separately. I once intended to write a series of short stories about various impossible loves, featuring uncommon pairings. But I dropped the idea when the plunny Ai/Agasa began to haunt me because I didn't want it to be written. XD *buries plunny*

This has been my last update before Christmas because I'll be working on a watercolour from now on. Afterwards, I'm going to continue _Encounter in Venice_ and _Becoming Conan_.


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